Friday, March 16h, 2029

ANDY

I watch them leave. Sarah is first out of the door at the head of the group; Iris runs up to be next to Gavin. I’m a little surprised he doesn’t notice her practically throwing herself at him. Maybe he does. Then again, with all that he’s been through recently. I couldn’t blame him for not wanting to get into things like that now, but it does concern me that he didn’t want to tell Sarah and Iris about his condition. I hope he doesn’t keep it a secret for too long.

“I see you didn’t mention the murder weapon,” Jen says, snapping me out of my trance.

“Huh? Oh, yeah…well, she’ll find out soon enough,” I say. I sit down on the bench reserved for the court stenographer and place my head in my hands.

“Do you think you’ll be able to pull through this?” Jen asks.

“I don’t know. We’re stacked short.” I say. “Are you sure you’ll be okay?”

“Yes, I can keep it together.”

“Good.”

“It still bothers me I don’t know how he’s here.” She turns to look at me, biting her lip.

“Maybe he didn't die when his father shot him like you think? Maybe it was like a taser or something?”

“I saw him get shot. I can't stop seeing him, Andy. That plus the copious amounts of diseases he had, the Vitiligo, C.O.P.D., I can't believe he didn't get through that without losing a lot of himself.” She says.

“And now he’s here.”

Jake Carroway...you used to be Jen’s best friend. They couldn’t separate you two for the life of it, and now you’re what they call the devil’s lawyer. What happened to you? Jake’s father was the chief of police who’d been caught up in a scandal with a good majority of the Colorado police force. They’d since been jailed for abuse of power. They’d been arrested for assisting Jack Adata’s personal vendetta with the abduction of every living person who was taken into Elysium back in 2022 plus the murder of everyone who hadn’t made it through to the end. The cops being in league with him was the main reason why he had a hold on us for so long, not because the police couldn’t find him or stop him, but because the majority of them didn’t want to. I learned this two years ago when President Avery came into power. The old police had effectively been routed out like a tumor and Avery had replaced it with his own personal command, replacing one person’s personal police with another. I don’t really know which is better to be honest. Since then, I’ve only heard passing rumor of Jake. I’d heard about a ruthless lawyer in New York with political connections that could go on longer than a laundry list. It seems something other than coincidence is at play here.

“Well, we’ll do this one step at a time,” I say. I stand up and look her right in the eyes. “It’s time to rock and roll.”

I push open the courtroom doors. Jen and I enter the hallway and the crowd that was once abundant throughout the hallway has since dispersed. I walk into the courtroom and a familiar wind blows past my face; it is the wind of a new beginning. I see the gallery is packed full of people and I can pick out the group in an instant. Sarah and Lindsey are watching intently, while Iris and Gavin are looking at each other talking.

My focus returns to the pit as I like to call it. It is the area between the gallery and the judge’s bench; the battlefield between the Prosecution and the Defense. I take my place at the bench and I see Jake at the other bench, resting one leg over the other. He’s got short snow-white hair and patches of discolored skin on his hands. He’s cleaned up in a black suit that looks like it was just draped on him from the storefront.

“A twist of fate nobody could have expected. Imagine my surprise to find out that not one, but two traitors enter my courtroom,” Jake calls out. His face contorts into a rageful shape.

“I’ve heard enough word about you to know this was bound to happen sooner or later,” I say. “Although part of me wishes it didn’t have to be like this.”

“Has New York turned you into some sort of soup kitchen now, volunteering?” He sneers.

“I think it’s made you quite the opposite.”

He recoils slightly. “Wouldn’t you like to think so,” Jake says.

“Will the defense and prosecution leave the bickering for outside the case?” A voice chimes in. I look up to the judge’s bench to see the judge presiding over the case in his chair. He’s balding and wears glasses that are slightly too large for him.

“Y-Yes your honor,” I mumble out.

“Will the defendant take the stand!” The judge bellows out and the crowd in the gallery is silenced. His voice echoes throughout the large courtroom and I can then see John being led to the witness stand. He is clad in prison orange.

“Mr...Baker, is it?”

“Yes.”

“You are being indicted on three charges of first degree murder. Do you understand that?”

“I do.” John’s voice is strained. I can’t understand exactly what he’s feeling, but I know his pressure.

“And what is your plea?”

“Not guilty, your honor.”

“Very well then. The prosecution may make its opening statements.”

Jake straightens up and holds one fist out onto the bench, clenched. “We’re here for a very simple reason today—to find the killer of Mr. Sven Underwood and Peter and Tonya Baker. These gruesome crimes were committed by a truly deranged individual who was covered nearly head to toe in what we confirmed was the victims’ blood while attempting to make his getaway. Was he trying to run from his actions?” Jake asks, smiling devilishly. “We have the scenes of the crime and the testimony of the arresting officer to prove that Jonathon Baker is more than guilty of murder, but also of theft—he stole three lives away from this fair town. Lives that can never be replaced. He has caused irreparable damage and I will make it my mission to establish his guilt here in court today. Thank you.”

The judge lets a slimy hand rest on his desk, his fingers tapping away. “It looks like it is up to you now, Mr. Cress to deliver your opening statements.”

I nod and stand, “Sure thing your honor!”

I look around me at the gallery. I used to get nervous at speaking in public like this, but I learned an easy trick to getting over it. My eyes fall right on Lindsey’s. She’s wearing a stunning dress and her eyes light up the whole world. I think of when I used to recite my opening statements in front of her—and god bless the woman for actually listening. I was a wreck when I decided I wanted to first get into law.

~...~

“Now, don’t laugh, okay?” I’m holding the papers in front of my face, just under my view of Lindsey. She’s sitting in the love seat in the family room of our small apartment just outside Clifton Park. Five years ago. This was after we found a spot to settle in New York. Jay helped us find the place—he helped a lot, actually. We all needed help after what we’ve been through.

“I’m not going to laugh at you,” Lindsey says, holding a cup of coffee in between her hands. “I really think you’ve got it this time. Try it once more.”

I can feel the nervous shake in my hands. I try to breathe deep. “Ladies and gentlemen of the court. I ask not much but for you to consider your best judgment in the case that follows. I believe in your decision, just like I believe in my client’s innocence. I will do my best to show you the truth.” I look up to her, waiting for her opinion. She sits there a moment in silence, sipping her coffee. “Well?” I ask.

“If you need to ask—n”

“Then I failed,” I say, slumping, letting the paper fall to my side.

“You’re too worried about reading everything off the sheet perfectly, it makes you look...uncertain.”

“Uncertain?”

“If you want to convince people you’re going to have to get to their heart. You have to urge them with your soul.”

I look at her and I let the papers fall from my fist.

“Ladies and gentlemen of the court...”

~...~

“...Today we are here for the trial of a boy who in the course of one day lost both of his parents and a beloved school teacher. A boy who—before this tragedy—was a part of this community. He lived as you or I, and not only has his whole world been shaken upside down, the prosecution asks that we punish him for that. Is that justice? In a time before our current legal system that wouldn’t stand. We wouldn’t rush trials to assure guilty verdicts. Before when justice was hailed...but it isn’t too late. You all have a powerful choice here in your hands. You decide this boy’s fate. You decide if justice really does prevail against violence. Thank you.”

I see her smiling back at me. Thank you, Linds.

“Yes, yes, now let’s just move on,” the judge says.

Jake nods, “The facts of the case are as such. Mr. Baker was found on the outskirts of town. The body of Mr. Daniel Underwood was found three feet from the back row bleachers in the Queensbury High School Gymnasium…” He stops for a breath. “He had several entry wounds in his torso including his stomach being cut open and its contents strewn about the floor. There was also a bullet hole found in the victim’s forehead. Then, a blood trail leads from the gymnasium in a path throughout the school to the outside where the path ends. Mr. Baker took this path out of the school building.”

“Were you able to find a murder weapon?” The judge asks.

“Mostly,” Jake answers. “We were able to find the gun, your honor. It was a .38 caliber revolver, but we were unable to find out what had cut the victim open.” He amends.

“What of the parents?” The judge asks.

“Peter and Tonya Baker, the accused’s parents. The same bodily wounds and bullet holes were found on them, your honor. The only difference being that they were killed in the victim’s room.”

The judge looks straight towards John. “I know I’m supposed to be impartial, but this isn’t sounding too good for you, son.”

Impartial my ass. That kind of thing wouldn’t fly before Avery.

“It is the prosecution’s accusation that Mr. Baker had killed his parents and then left to go kill the gym teacher,” Jake says. “The prosecution would like to summon its first witness,” Jake says.

“All right. Let the first witness take the stand!”

A well groomed man approaches the witness stand. Detective Ace Harde is not a hard fellow to miss. The bailiff walks up to him and holds something in his hand. “Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth?”

“I do,” the man responds.

One of the easiest lies to tell. One of the easiest to see, also.

“Will the witness give his name and occupation to the court?” Jake asks.

“Certainly! My name is Ace Harde. Ace Detective, if you please,” he says and laughs.

“So that would make you the detective who first arrived on the scene?” I ask.

“Certainly!” He flashes a grin.

“Would you mind giving testimony of the events you had witnessed?” Jake asks.

“Certainly not, Mr. Carroway,” Detective Harde straightens his tie and in a flash he’s almost a composed gentleman in the world.

“Witness, at what time did you arrive on the scene of the school gym?” Jake asks.

“Approximately twenty minutes after a call was placed into the station. This was around 9:20 in the morning.”

“And was this call of any urgency?”

“Urgency? Certainly. The caller had said there was someone outside the school covered in blood!”

“When you had made the arrest of Mr. Baker, wasn’t he covered in blood, similar to that phone description?” Jake asks.

“Objection! The prosecution is attempting to lead the witness,” I call out.

“Objection sustained,” the judge says.

Jake sighs, “Fine. Did anything about the defendant surprise you as you had arrested him?”

“Why, certainly! He was covered in-“

“Objection,” I call.

“Objection overruled,” the judge says.

“I had certainly seen blood on his clothes, your honor. Once I brought him down to the precinct I had the blood tested and it was that of the victim,” he says.

“And which victim would that be, detective?” the judge asks.

“The blood on Mr. Baker had belonged to Mr. Daniel Underwood.”

“So, it was the victim’s blood. It seems like a pretty open and shut case. Don’t you, your honor?” Jake says with a hopeful look in his eye.

“The evidence is pretty much all there, I’ll admit,” the judge shrugs.

“Your honor,” I say, “...the prosecution has yet to provide a motive for my client.”

“Well, this is true,” the judge says.

“Alright, I should explain that the witness was the one who had examined the scenes of Mr. Underwood and the Bakers, so his knowledge of the arrest itself are none and just,” Jake explains. “Will the witness kindly explain what he had found on the scene?” Jake asks with a smirk.

Detective Harde nods quickly. “Certainly! When I had arrived on the scene of the gym I had found the revolver lying in the pool of blood!” A freeze frame—time begins to slow to almost a halt. This is my power. Whenever people lie, or if they don’t tell the whole truth they let off their nervous habits. This detective is hiding something very important in his testimony. I can see his right thumb rubbing in-between his index and middle fingers. His thumb is twitching something terrible. Another moment and time reverts back to normal. It doesn’t matter, I’ve got him now.

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“Objection! Detective Harde, whenever you had mentioned finding the gun your thumb had started to twitch and you began rubbing it nervously with your other two fingers. It was only during that section of your testimony. It’s as if you’re nervous about something,” I say.

“What? What does that have to do with anything? I wouldn’t lie to-” he begins.

“Now, detective, you shouldn’t be nervous at all when describing the gun specifically unless you weren’t telling us the truth concerning it?”

“Objection! Your honor, you can’t honestly-”

“Objection overruled. I’m quite interested in where this is going, myself.” the judge says. In any other situation I’m sure he’d be reclining and grabbing for a bag of popcorn.

“I’d like to think more testimony about the gun is in order, your honor,” I say.

The judge nods. “Why, I’d like to know more about the murder weapon, too,” the judge answers.

“Cress, you just don’t know when to take a verdict, don’t you?” Jake asks, his teeth clenched.

“I’m simply just looking for what really happened,” I cock my head in his direction. “Isn’t that what justice is all about?”

“Fine. You can cross examine the witness,” he grunts.

“Didn’t know I needed your permission, thanks.” I turn back to the detective. “Now, Detective Harde, you had mentioned you had found the gun lying in the pool of blood, correct?” I ask.

“Certainly.”

“That...isn’t possible,” I say, a grin starting to form on my face.

“What are you getting at, Cress?” Jake asks.

“I’d like to call Mr. Baker to the stand and have you swear in his testimony, your honor.” I say.

“B-But we’re in the middle of this—” Jake stammers.

“It’s relevant to the testimony, your honor. I’m entering Mr. Baker’s testimony into evidence—his words directly contradict Detective Harde’s testimony.”

The judge stares me hard for a second, and then nods, leaning back in his chair. “Well, it better, because I’m not wasting any time here on mistakes. You get a shot, Mr. Cress.” He turns to the bailiff. “Go and fetch Mr. Baker, please.”

“But—!”

“No buts, Mr. Carroway,” the judge says. “We’re not to be here all day, you understand? If Mr. Cress says that he finds an error with your witness then we shall investigate it once, and only once. If nothing comes of it we shall move on.”

“Yes, your honor,” he sags.

“Okay then, Mr. Baker, please take the stand!” A few seconds later, John stands up and I can see his chest move up and then down slowly. “Mr. Baker, you’ve been listening so far, am I correct?”

“Yes, your honor.”

“Now, I assume you know what information you should be giving, correct?”

“Was there a gun anywhere in the gym?” I ask.

“No. If I saw anything like that I would have noticed it.”

“And what makes you sure of that?” I ask.

“Well, I woke up in the pool of blood. The only thing that was there was...well, me. No gun.”

“Woke up? I’m afraid I don’t understand, you were sleeping in the gym?” The judge asks.

“No, sir, not voluntarily.”

“Objection,” Jake says.

“The witness will explain his strange situation!” The judge says, snapping at him to hush.

“Well,” John begins, “I noticed that the pool of blood was only around me—it wasn’t anywhere near where the body was. The whole floor looked like it had been cleaned up in a hurry.”

“Yes, it is also possible that Mr. Baker cleaned the blood in an effort to concoct this ludicrous story,” Jake says.

“I don’t really think so,” I say. “Why would he clean up only some of the blood, and not notice that it was covering his clothing? Would he not have seen them enough to toss them? If he had all this time to supposedly clean up the crime scene, then obviously he would have had time to notice the gun.”

“We’re still running with the assumption that he just woke up in the school?” Jake asked. “Which, I’ve yet to hear any good reason for.”

I nod, “Mr. Baker, is it true that you have no recollection of these past two weeks?”

“Yes.”

“And why would that be?”

“Objection!”

“Objection overruled.”

“It’s...” he starts, “it’s because I was kidnapped.”

“Your honor, I have with me a note that was given to the defendant before he was kidnapped two weeks ago. I also have with me a missing persons report filed by his mother. Both of these here are more than enough reason to believe that this is more than a grand conspiracy on the part of my sixteen year old client.” I walk up to the bench and place the two sheets of paper in front of him. “The note, as you’ll read taunts my client. “I’ll need to borrow you”.” I place it now for the record that we, the defense, believe there is a third party involved with these two murders—a dangerous entity that has kidnapped my client and framed him for the murder of his parents and gym teacher.”

“Do I even have to say it?” Jake asks. “This is...” but he is cut off by the uproar from the gallery. Talking becomes the norm in the room. People looking from one another in shock and awe.

I turn around and catch Lindsey giving me a thumbs up. I smile and turn back around. I take a quick breath. It’s not over yet, but I’ve poked a hole in the prosecution’s case. I just hope that hole is ready to be ripped open wide.

“This is madness!” Jake calls out, silencing the crowd. “You have no proof of any of your claims. “It is an obvious case!”

“Jake, how do you suppose Mr. Baker, of his stature, was able to carry the dead body from the pool of blood—your theorized scene of the crime—to the bleachers without getting any blood on the floor?”

“He wiped it up!”

“Why would he go through the trouble of wiping it up and then leaving the gun in the larger pool of blood?”

“He missed it!”

“No,” I shake my head. “That is too unlikely to be possible. The only explanation that makes any lick of sense is that the body was moved by a third party and this third party had forged the evidence which is that gun to accuse my client! They were the ones responsible for Mr. Baker’s kidnapping—or at least know who is and is working with them—and planted him on the scene!”

“Your argument hinges on the sole fact that a third party exists! Do you have any proof of this third party at all?”

“I have one piece of evidence to give a shred of a doubt,” I say.

“I’d love to see this,” He barks.

You’re unwinding, Jake. Maybe this line of work doesn’t suit you anymore. Time to unravel this whole case.

“Okay. Mr. Cress, you may begin your direct examination,” the judge says, “If you to are...done bickering.”

“So, Mr. Baker, I’m going to ask you about that note that was in your pocket on the day of the incident.”

“Yes, it was given to me by a man named Micah.”

“Micah?” I ask. “Do you mean to imply that the national deviant—the one that the President himself is after wrote you that note?”

“That is what I believe, yes,” John says.

“It does say it was signed by him here,” the judge says, “...but why would he sign his own name here in a clear confession?”

Jake is silent. It is strange—I was expecting him to ask that question before the judge ever put two and two together.

“I believe I answered that before, your honor,” I say. “Micah is a very public figure in his...outbursts. You’ll recall the recent hacking of New York’s news stations that happened just last month. If Micah were behind a crime like kidnapping, he’d be the kind of person to taunt his victims.” I turn to John. “You’ve done well, John. Your honor, I’d like to call Jennifer Cress to the stand,” I say.

Jen elbows me. “Don’t call me Jennifer again, it’s too weird,” she whispers.

“Okay. Mr. Baker, you may step down, unless Mr. Carroway has any objections?” the judge asks.

Jen approaches the witness stand and I see that Jake is staring holes through her more so than he was with me.

“Hello, Jen. It’s been awhile,” Jake says.

“It’s been some time.”

“Well, it sure seems that we’re all familiar with each other here. Ms. Cress, I hope you wouldn’t falsify any of your testimony in hopes to help your brother’s case?”

“I am here as a representative to my office, your honor,” Jen says. “I wouldn’t tarnish that reputation.”

“Mr. Carroway, do you have any objections?”

“As much as I’d hate to say it she isn’t a liar, so I feel that whatever she says will be completely factual,” Jake says, tense.

“Okay, Mr. Cress, you may begin.”

I nod my head. “So, Ms. Cress, name and occupation?” I ask.

“Jen Cress, forensic scientist,” she says.

“There’s been something that has been bothering me. On the note that John had received there was a speck of blood on it, was there not?” I ask.

“Yes, I do believe there was,” she says. “Could you confirm, your honor?”

“Why...yes,” he eyes the paper, “there does seem to be blood on it. Do we know whose blood is on that scrap of paper?”

“I’d initially assumed it was just Mr. Underwood’s, or John’s parents’s,” Jen says.

“Maybe we should get it checked, just in case,” I say.

I have a hunch and maybe, just maybe this will come through for me!

“Objection. I find that the piece of paper’s blood is irrelevant to the case at hand. All you will prove is that you are a master at wasting time and valuable resources,” Jake says.

“I don’t want you wasting any time, Mr. Cress,” the judge warns.

“Your honor, I don’t intend to waste anyone’s time. I say that this blood may very well blow a hole wide open in this case.”

“Very well, let us have this blood tested, but if nothing substantial shows up, then I want the accused locked up behind bars,” Jake says.

“If it saves time, your honor I could do the test myself. I am a certified authority in this situation,” Jen says.

“If it’s to save time then I’m all for it,” the judge says.

That doesn’t inspire a lot of hope for this legal system, even if it is in my advantage. I grab the plastic bag that holds the note inside of it and walk it over to Jen.

“I’m just going to need my equipment. I have them in a locker outside of courtroom #5,” Jen says.

“Bailiff, would you please escort Ms. Cress out to her locker to fetch her equipment?”

The presiding bailiff nods his head and leaves the courtroom with Jen. They re-enter the room about three minutes later and Jen has a small little gizmo in her hands. It’s like a little cube with two antennae sticking out of the side.

“Would the witness please explain what that gadget is, for those of us not in the loop?” the judge asks.

“Why, of course. This is the machine I will use to analyze the sample of blood. It’s called the Hemoglobal Data Sampler, but we can just stick with the HDS, for simplicity,” Jen says. She takes the plastic bag and unzips it, feeding the paper through the slot on the side of the HDS. It goes all the way in and the machine begins making a slow shallow hum. “Now, the HDS is cross referencing every blood sample that has been entered into the national database since the beginning, obviously, barring the years which aren’t relevant to our case. So, anybody alive in the past twenty years that has been entered into this system could be found through this,” Jen says.

The machine hums for another few seconds and then spits the note back out. Through the top slot of the cube another sheet of paper begins to print out. Jen takes out the paper and looks it over.

“Well, what are the results?” the judge asks.

Jen’s eyes go wide. “It says here that there are two owners of the blood here,” she says.

“What?” Jake asks, flinching.

“It means that there isn’t just one person’s blood on this note. It could be a drop, or it could be 99% of it, but there are actually two small stains on this note, instead of one large one.”

“Quick! Tell us whose blood that is!” I say.

“The first sample of blood belongs to Tonya Baker, John’s mother,” Jen says.

“Hahahaha!” Jake’s face contorts and he slams his hand down on the table.

“What is it Jake?” I ask.

“Oh, you really had me worried there for a moment. I thought that this evidence had turned into something big, but here I was worrying about nothing! Of course the mother’s blood would be on it. And I can bet the other owner belongs to the father, Mr. Peter Baker.”

“Incorrect,” Jen says.

“What?” Jake asks, his grin disappearing.

“The second stain on the note, that blood belongs to none other than Detective Ace Harde.”

The gallery erupts into chaos. The judge slams his gavel down repeatedly, but the nonsense doesn’t end. The look on Jake’s face matches my own, complete and utter, “What the hell is going on?!”

It takes a whole ten minutes for the whole situation to calm down and then the judge is the first one to break the new silence.

“Ms. Cress, are we to believe that your machine is 100% fully functional?” he asks.

“Why, of course, it’s been inspected every week by my department and no flaws have been noted,” Jen explains.

“So, we can safely assume it is Detective Harde’s blood on the note,” the judge says.

“Not assume, your honor. We know that it is his blood,” I say.

“Right, quite right,” the judge nods his head.

Jake cuts in with a shallow laughter once more.

“What is it now, Jake?” I ask.

“I understand now. I never thought you’d stoop to such levels, Cress.” he says, a disdainful look on his face.

“What are you talking about?”

“Your honor, I propose to you that one of these clues in this case is a little too perfect for its own well-being. I suggest that the note of interest has been forged by Mr. Cress in a dirty attempt to get his client off the hook from his crimes!”

“What!? Is this true Mr. Cress?” the judge asks.

“Of course it’s not true. The prosecution is grasping at straws.”

“Mr. Carroway, these are very serious allegations you’re throwing against the defense. Are you willing to back up your claim?”

“I am,” Jake says, nodding. His demon-smirk has returned in full form.

“Alright then, we shall hear Prosecutor Carroway’s description of the events with the supposedly forged evidence,” the judge says.

I straighten my tie and tighten it just a little bit. I feel this is going to be a bit of a bumpy ride, but it is a ride I must take to reach the truth. Jake stands up straight and clears his throat.

“All right, before the trial had begun I had received an anonymous tip that forged evidence would be entering this case.”

“You what?” I ask.

“It was an anonymous tip with a card attached to it that detailed the monetary purchase of a forged piece of evidence. At first, I’d doubted it. While my feelings for you are less than stellar I had believed you to be the kind of opponent who would fight fair.” he says.

“What did this card say, specifically?” The judge asks.

“It didn’t list any specific bit of evidence, hence why I didn’t know which it would have been at first, but think on this. How perfect of a situation do we have here that Mr. Baker had just mysteriously found in his pocket the plans of someone to kidnap him? Who would legitimately do something like that?”

“Well, it does sound a little far-fetched…” the judge says.

“Who would do this and then pin a crime on them, when leaving this piece of paper on the defendant would surely get him off? The answer here is clear, the letter proposed here is a fraud and the blood faked.”

“This…it isn’t fake,” I say, stammering.

“According to the federal database, there is but a single item in evidence that hasn’t been processed by the police in this case, that being your note, there. All other pieces of evidence were thoroughly checked for legitimacy and logged into the system by yours truly. Anything else, like that note, which is the evidence which your whole case hangs on, is questionable and is reason enough to suspect forgery! I put it to the court that Andrew Cress had forged this piece of evidence to alter the court’s mind and feign his client’s innocence!”

“Well...this is all very something, but it isn’t exactly definite proof, Mr. Carroway.”

“I wish to have a chance to prove my evidence’s legitimacy!” I call.

“And how do you plan on doing that?” Jake asks.

Shit, I didn’t really think this part through. Let me think...the only defining features are the blood stains and the message itself, written by Micah...wait! That’s it!

“Are there any pieces of evidence from any of Micah’s old trials still circulating around?”

“Why would they be important?” Jake asks.

“There must have been some sort of evidence he’d have done any sort of handwriting on. Anything,” I say.

“There was one of Pablo Picasso’s old paintings,” the judge says, “The Weeping Woman that had some of his scrawlings written on the back.”

“I say we retrieve that piece of evidence and do a handwriting analysis on the note!” I say. “I said we can find out if this is the real deal, here and now.”

“Fine,” Jake says with a nasty snarl on his face.

The judge sighs, “Mr. Carroway, please call the District Attorney to have the Pablo Picasso painting sent over, stat. Meanwhile, we will have a short recess,” the judge says and then slams his gavel down. I managed to make it this far, I’ve loaded the gun. Now I just have to aim properly and finish strong, or else this could be the end of it all.